


Aegis of the Heart

by SignlessGenesis



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Loss, Magic, Past Torture, Slow Burn, yordles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignlessGenesis/pseuds/SignlessGenesis
Summary: Amidst a world plagued with war, the merciless hand of doom spares none. Sinister magics run rampant, civilizations unravel at their seams and the threat of all-consuming darkness looms ever closer. Champions rise and fall in a futile endeavor to halt the world’s encroaching peril, unaware that, in the end, their sacrifices will have been all for naught.While many seek to sway the oncoming evils, others embrace them- some by choice, others by circumstance. Mind fractured and body morphed by unspeakably heinous torment, Veigar wanders this broken world in search of one thing: power. He believes his power alone is capable of snuffing out the ghastly terrors seeking to eviscerate what remains of Runeterra- that, under his dictatorship, the world may finally obtain some semblance of peace.During his travels, he witnesses unspeakable acts of cruelty, all of which fuel his desire to rise above these pitiful mortals. With the power of the cosmos at his disposal, he sets his sights on the mysterious World Runes. He believes their primal power will grant him the footing he needs to execute his diabolical plan. Unbeknownst to him, the long and arduous journey ahead would lead to odd encounters and unlikely alliances.





	Aegis of the Heart

_ Smoke burned his lungs and stung his eyes, blinding him with his own tears. In the distance, he could still hear the clash of blades and armor, the pained screams of innocent civilians stuck in the crossfires of rebellion, and the booming, maniacal laughter of his crazed master. _

 

_ How he’d managed to weave through the warring crowds and flee from the confines of his lonely cell was a miracle in itself, one he would not take for granted. Shortly after the guards had been called away to aid in fending off the rebellion, he was roused by the thunderous click of his cell door unlocking. A cloaked figure appeared and ushered him through the blood-soaked halls while ordering him to flee. It all happened in such a blinding blur that the mere thought made his head spin. _

 

_ He was dizzy, so terribly dizzy. The reddened sky of waning dusk didn’t help the migraine assaulting his cranium; he found it disorienting. It reminded him of the streets running red with the blood of both loyalists and rebels. His body ached, legs threatened to give out and crumble beneath him, yet he continued onward into the unknown. There was no goal in fleeing his imprisonment. No prize awaiting a captured hero, no crowds that would celebrate his newfound liberation- only the primal drive of survival. Despite his release from subjugation, Veigar knew that freedom was not what he had been given. Freedom, true freedom, was a false hope he’d surrendered years ago. No, what the fleeing yordle had gained was something far more valuable to him: an opportunity for vengeance. _

 

_ Only the Celestials could determine how long he ran, how far he soldiered forward for the sole purpose of putting mass distance between himself and his former prison. Dusk had just begun to settle in the sky when he’d first tasted liberation, and now the crescent moon sat firmly overhead. Darkness closed in around him, trapping Veigar in its predatory jaws; suffocating. As though the shadows themselves had reached out and wrapped around his throat, he found himself short of breath, wheezing and hacking violently. The severity of his chokes forced him to slow his pace and come to a screeching halt. The forest around him was unfamiliar, its shape seeming to shift and alter due to the blurring shadows. With great reluctance, the dark mage leaned heavily against a tree, though the rigid bark offered little comfort. Regret followed immediately as the true extent of his exhaustion weighed down upon him. The adrenaline that drove him this far had run dry, and as the last shreds of his strength faded, the yordle collapsed and slumped down limply among the trees exposed roots. The only sound Veigar could hear as he nestled against the tree was the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears. In a poor attempt to find some fragment of comfort, he curled into as tight of a ball as his aching body would allow, hugging himself and trembling. _

 

_ The last thing he wanted was to allow himself to be consumed by the darkness, but there was nothing he could do to recall his fading consciousness. He was so tired, and as he succumbed to his exhaustion there was only a single thought that crossed his mind. _

 

_ “If I am to perish here...Gods, please let the cosmos be merciful.” _

 

* * *

 

 

The clouds that had been gathering since dawn, dark and unyielding, smothered the afternoon sun. The winds that pushed against the ship were not a playful breeze, but a great zephyr that threatened Veigar’s already unbalanced body. Still, he clung to the railing at the bow of the dinky vessel, his sights set on the obscured horizon and anxiously searching for any sign of the Navori harbor. It had nearly two months since he set out on his journey to Ionia. Veigar spent countless restless nights studying ancient writing and lost tomes. He firmly convinced himself that this continent of magic was guaranteed to house one of the fabled World Runes he so desperately sought.

 

Thus far, the most arduous part of his voyage was finding suitable transportation. He hitchhiked with a caravan from Boleham, through the Argent Mountains, to Palckyff, and from there boarded a ship belonging to a silk trading fellowship that sailed him to Nashramae. After a small respite to purchase supplies and interrogate the locals, spice traders offered safe passage to Piltover as long as Veigar could pull his own weight around the ship. Finally, he boarded with a Vastayan fishing company that promised direct travel to Ionia in exchange for magely enchantments. He was more than happy to comply.

 

The warlock learned to regret his decision to travel with the fishing company four days into the trip when the crew sailed right into a hardy typhoon that refused to relent. Now the rickety old fishing boat rocked back and forth with the growing waves at an uneven tempo, making the warlock’s head spin and his stomach churn. The air, carried by a gale that could only sing a single note, was thick with salt and offered no relief to his queasy stomach.

He hated this. He hated everything about this. The dark and choppy waters, the foggy skyline, this pathetic excuse of a ship, the bitter seaspray sticking to his fur and irritating his eyes, the elderly Ionian ship captain standing beside him… wait-.

 

Surprised by the sudden appearance of the captain Veigar instinctively flinches away, his back pressing hard against the railing in a poor attempt to distance himself from the Vastayan. He meets the captain’s awaiting stare; how long had the russet-furred cat-man been standing there?

 

“State your business, worm,” Veigar demands.

 

“Business?” The captain calmly responds as he strokes his greyed muzzle. “Why, this is my ship! I have every right to stand where I please. What is  _ your _ business out here, mage?”

Veigar never gave his name, nor did he ask for any of the crew’s. However, the captain did introduce himself when they’d first made their deal; ‘Captain Mephis’.

 

Veigar is about to respond when the ship rolls over an exceptionally large wave, causing him to lose his footing. He frantically grips the rail with his oversized gauntlet in an attempt to steady himself. Mephis, on the other hand, remains completely balanced and unphased.

 

“I grow weary of this incessant storm,” Veigar growls, opting not to answer the captain’s question. “How much longer until we reach Ionia?”

 

Mephis sighs as he draws his gaze away from his bitter passenger, and he too sets his sights on the horizon. “Not long,” he says, much to Veigar’s delight. “Another day if the storm keeps up, less if we hit smoother waters.”

 

Veigar grunts in response, deeming the answer satisfactory. He didn’t care to indulge the benevolent captain in conversation. All he wanted was to regain his solitude- it was the reason he’d stepped into the storm in the first place. The ship’s cabin was filled with the fishing crew, a noisy bunch that, no matter how many times Veigar threatened to mount their heads on pikes, refused to leave him alone.

 

Through the corner of his eye Veigar notices Mephis pull something out of his pocket; a cigar, from what he could tell. The captain strikes a match against one of his black claws and lights it, then casually takes a long drag while his passenger bristles with annoyance at his mere presence. Mephis blows out a puff of smoke before turning his attention back to Veigar—the cigar smelt disgusting.

 

“You know,” the captain says as he eyes Veigar. “Ionia, the First Lands, is home to many sacred places. Travelers come and go for trade, exploration, adventure, or just sightseeing.” Mephis pauses to allow Veigar an opportunity to speak, but when the little mage offers nothing more than a scowl he continues speaking. “Most mages I’ve seen come to research the high density of magic that flows through the lands. But you… no, you don’t seem like a researcher- don’t have that scholarly look about you.”

 

“Get to the point,” Veigar hisses, his patience rapidly running dry.

 

Mephis just chuckles and blows another cloud of smoke. “Why are you traveling to Ionia?”

 

“If you’re concerned about my business there, why didn’t you inquire my intentions prior to our deal?” Veigar turns his head away, towards the direction the wind blew. He’d rather smell the salty air than the cigar smoke.

 

“Not concerned,” the captain assures. “Just curious.”

 

“Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘curiosity killed the cat’?”

 

“Is that a threat?” Mephis asks with raised brows.

 

“Not yet,” Veigar grumbled. “But could become one, if you don’t cease your prying.” Even with his head turned away, he could feel the captain’s eyes on him. There was no bluff in his tone, only steeled honestly and a bitter undertone. Veigar says nothing else on the matter, hoping the captain would take the hint and  _ leave him alone. _

 

“Well,” Mephis speaks again after several minutes of tense silence. “S’pose I ought to get back to the helm. Enjoy your brooding, o’ mighty mage.” The word  _ mighty _ sounded improvised, forced, and it pierced Veigar’s pride like an arrow. He whips his head around to bark out a demand for respect, but the captain had already sauntered off, leaving the yordle to boil in his exasperation.

 

Despite Mephis granting Veigar’s silent wish to be left alone, he didn’t feel better after regaining his solitude. Anger still sat heavily in his chest, stubbornly anchored there by an array of emotions he could not describe. He unconsciously takes a single step in the direction the captain had walked off but is quick to catch and reel himself back. Veigar turns away with a huff and sets his burning golden eyes back to the foggy skyline.

It felt oddly quiet despite the monotone wind whistling in his ears and crashing waves battering the sides of the vessel. Despite the ship being filled with people, he felt alone.

 

_ It’s good to be alone. _

  
  
  
  


The woodlands flanking the ship as it sailed into the bay seemed ominously quiet. Thick fog spilled down the rolling hills, swallowing and smothering the greens of the leaves, the grasses, and the underbrush. It leached out their color, turning everything the same dull grey as Veigar’s metallic gauntlets. It was quiet and, aside from the hushed groans of the battered old ship, the only sounds Veigar could hear was the susurration of the leaves in the melodic wind.

 

From his vantage point on the bow of the vessel, Veigar could see the vague outline of the Navori harbor.  _ Finally _ . He was eager to get off this damnable boat and plant his feet on solid land, perhaps then his stomach would finally settle again. He wastes little time running down into the ship’s cabin to gather his belongings. Which consisted only of his staff, and a backpack on the brink of overflowing with basic supplies he purchased from Nashramae, as well as several tomes he deemed vital to his search.

 

With his gear in tow, he made his way back up to the deck, weaving past the crewmates that had recently roused from their drunken stupor. He could smell the whiskey on their breaths and cigar smoke clinging to their unkempt clothes. Disgusting. The stench mixed with the lurching ship proved to be too potent a combination for Veigar’s stomach to handle, and as soon as he squeezed out of the cabin he made a mad dash for the port side, leaned over the railing and hurled up what little contents he had in his stomach.

 

“Ugh…” he groaned and spat several times, leering viciously at both nothing and everything in tandem. Had this been another trivial relic—a common curiosity—then he never would have willingly put himself through this tiring journey.

 

Veigar stares off into the desaturated hills as the ship pulls into the harbor. Far in the distance, he could see the Placidium of Navori, resting high upon the mountains, nestled in the gathering gloom. Its details remained obscured in the thick fog, yet still, the building's silhouette jutted into the brightening sky as if it had been hand drawn there with charcoal. He had to admit, the sight was rather impressive, and perhaps a bit imposing.

 

The Placidium was one of the most sacred places in Ionia, a sanctuary for hardy scholars to journey to, with the reward of studying at the renowned schools. It was built at the heart of the continent, its features molded by nature, with man-made architecture built around the foundations laid out by Mother Nature. The entirety of the continents magic seemed to flow from Navori, and many were known to make the journey solely to meditate in its wildly magical gardens.

Veigar didn’t care for meditations, nor the foundations of the sacred place, the schools, the architecture, the wild adventure. The only thing that piqued his interest was the magic, or more specifically, the source of it. Somewhere in the heart of these wild lands, hidden in Navori itself or buried deep below the surface, had to be one of the dangerously potent World Runes.

 

He attempts to regather his composure and pushes away from the safety railing. He can hear the acrid-smelling crew shout at one another as they lowered a ramp to the dock, but before he can begin a hasty descent to the solid ground, a pinkish light catches his eye. It was barely a flicker, yet it was steady and bright enough to momentarily relieve the hazy gloom of his surroundings. Veigar whipped his head back around and scanned the surrounding docks, anticipating a dockhand to be illuminating mage lights. However, he only sees more splotches of dull greys segmented by the dim yellows of hanging lanterns.

 

“Odd,” says a familiar voice to Veigar’s left, causing him to recoil and shoot a hard glare at the captain. He disliked how easily the Vastayan snuck up on him. “You’re still here? I’d have thought you of all people would be the most eager to-”

 

“Your services have been  _ adequate _ ,” Veigar interrupts, turning away from Mephis as he wiped his mouth. “Though I use the term very lightly.”

 

Mephis huffs indignantly. “How rude to judge a captain’s hospitality so harshly.”

 

“I’ve passed worse judgments,” Veigar grunts and saunters past Mephis with a flourish of his dark purple tunic, briskly making his way towards the ramp. Unfortunately, it seemed as though fate refused to free him of the Vastayan’s presence, as the captain’s long strides easily matched Veigar’s fleet-footed pace.

 

He growls and comes to a halt, prepared to turn and reprimand the felid for following him, but the captain just continues past him, several of his crew trailing behind and gossiping amongst themselves. Veigar mindlessly follows from a distance, listening.

 

“You mean to tell me  _ Borrudiem _ still has dominion over the northwest?!”A feathered lizardman squawked in disbelief to a digitigrade mothwoman.

 

“Shh…” the woman pressed a slender finger to her lips, a soft plea for discretion. “Yes, the beast has yet to be culled. That is why we set sail ahead of schedule; the captain’s cousin intends to take matters into her own hands.”

 

“You’d think the monastery would have dispatched acolytes to fell the creature by now,” the lizardman hisses.

 

“Their focus has been drawn to the south since the Noxian invasion,” Mephis interjects, glancing back over his shoulder. “Have faith in the strength of our people, Tacht. I trust in Miarna’s ability to rally the forces necessary to slay Borrudiem.” The captain stops and turns to face his crew, however, his gaze peers past them, and Veigar realizes too late that Mephis’ attention was set on him.

 

“And perhaps we may coax a favor from our new friend.”

 

Veigar stops in his tracks and bristles as the crew’s curious eyes turn to him.

 

“You’re a bounty hunter?” the lizardman,  _ Tacht _ , inquires.

 

“A bold assumption,” Veigar grumbles, his eyes warily moving from one chimeric face to another. “But no, I am not. Nor am I interested in servicing your cause.”

 

The Vastayans begin murmuring amongst themselves, occasionally glancing in Veigar’s direction. However, the captain’s gaze remains trained on him, and Veigar cannot help but scowl when the catman smirks at him.

 

“Come with us to my cousin's inn. Listen to her proposal and at least consider lending us your power. Do this, and I will guarantee you a nights lodging, free of charge. Embark on the journey with us, and my crew and I will fulfill any favor you ask of us. In addition, I can promise songs of heroism will be sung in your honor.”

 

Veigar’s scowl softens, if only a little, at the mention of praise and adoration. He  _ was  _ fond of attention, and the idea of having an entire crew at his beck and call was incredibly appealing. And it likely guaranteed fast travel to the Placidium once this minor detour was dealt with.

He hums thoughtfully, remaining reticent and feigning modesty.

 

“I will entertain the idea,” he says while turning to admire his gauntlet, drawing attention to the sparks of dark magic weaving between the metallic clawed fingers. “After all, I’d be a fool to dismiss such a generous act of hospitality. Go, lead on.”

**Author's Note:**

> More will likely be added to the end of this chapter before the second is written.


End file.
